0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction

"Tempting the Knight"
by Raul O. Stool
Daggerpoint loomed through the mist like a carcass.
Its towers were broken teeth against the sky. Moss choked the stone. Torches flickered behind arrow slits, but their light barely reached the courtyard. Fog had swallowed the place whole.
Sarra stepped down from her horse, boots sinking into the slush. She didnât shiver, though the cold had long since soaked through her cloak. The wind tasted like ash. Or memory.
âStay close, Princess,â her guard murmured.
She ignored him.
Let the North think she was fragile. Let them think she came as bait, or tribute, or a pet southern mouthpiece.
Let them be wrong.
The gates groaned open.
She stepped through alone.
Daggerpoint hadnât changed. Still ruinous. Still haunted. Soldiers paced the upper walls, eyes dull from too many winters. Somewhere, a raven cawed.
And there he was.
Torv stood at the far end of the yard, one hand on the hilt of his sword, red cloak dark with rain. He hadnât moved. He didnât need to.
His presence hit like the first blow of a duelâloud, sudden, unmistakable.
âTorv,â she said.
He didnât smile.
âYou werenât invited.â
Sarra tilted her head. âYou signed the summons.â
âI summoned envoys. Advisors. Not ghosts.â
âIâm not here to haunt you.â
âNo?â His voice was flint on stone. âThen why do I feel twelve years old againâbleeding from the mouth, swearing I'd never look back?â
Sarra took a slow step forward. âBecause you always were dramatic.â
That earned himânothing. No twitch of the mouth. No glimmer of warmth.
âWhy are you here?â he asked.
âBecause your banner is bleeding the border dry. Because if this war drags on another winter, neither side will have enough grain to bury the dead. Becauseââ
She exhaled. âBecause I was tired of waiting for someone else to end it.â
He looked at her like she was a knife he thought heâd thrown away.
âI told you not to follow me.â
âAnd I told you I donât take orders.â
A silence stretched between them. Not emptyâloaded. With old wounds. Unwritten letters. Nights spent awake on opposite ends of a dying world.
At last, he spoke.
âYou sound like your father.â
âI was hoping Iâd sound like you.â
Torv stepped down from the platform, slow and deliberate. The wind pulled at his cloak. He didnât stop until they stood a bladeâs length apart.
âYou think one conversation ends Farcastles?â he said.
âNo. But it might end us.â
That stopped him.
âYou think weâre still a âweâ?â
Her voice was steady. âI think we never stopped being.â
He studied her face. Carefully. Like it might vanish if he blinked.
âYou shouldnât have come,â he said, softly now. âThis placeâit ruins things.â
âIâm not afraid of ruin.â
âThen youâre a fool.â
Sarra stepped closer. âOr I remember who you were before this war turned your heart into a ledger.â
Torvâs jaw tightened. âYou donât know what Iâve done.â
âThen tell me.â
His hand rose halfway, fingers trembling like theyâd forgotten how to reach for anything soft. He stopped himself. Dropped it.
âSay the word,â he murmured. âTell me to go. Or tell me to stay.â
Sarra didnât flinch. âIâm done giving you permission.â
And thenâhe kissed her.
It wasnât tender.
It was desperate. Rusted. A mouth remembering another life. Her hands found his cloak, fists clenched tight as if letting go would kill her.
Thenâ
A shout. Metal on stone. The high alarm bell peeled once across the yard.
Torv tore away. âTrouble.â
Sarra reached for her dagger. âOf course.â
Because nothing born of Farcastles ever came easy.
Not peace.
Not love.
And certainly not him. 0 reply
0 recast
3 reactions